


Twilight Kingdom

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Faramir is delirious and dying during the retreat from Osgilith. Inspired by T.S Eliot's poem, The Hollow Men. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Twilight Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Description:  Faramir is delirious and dying during the retreat from Osgilith. Inspired by T.S Eliot's poem, The Hollow Men.

Disclaimer:  I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any of the characters portrayed therin, and am merely a fan who enjoys playing in his lovely sandbox. Several quotes are taken directly from Tolkien. Again, no copyright infringement was intended.

* * *

He knows the battle is full of the sounds of metal upon metal, of men shrieking in pain and terror, of the crashing of stone, but he does not hear this. Instead, he can only hear his own breath rasping in his chest like wind through dry grass. He knows that around him, men are fighting and dying, but he can only see the clouds, darker than night, the roof of a great wave reaching over to swallow them.  His cold fingers brush against ; the blood from his Men, those bravest of Men, who were willing to rush to their death under his command, who would risk leave widows mourning and children fatherless for the sake of a fool's hope.  

They are empty of everything but war; they have been made into instruments of violence by the encroaching shadow, a madman's mind, and they humble themselves to this face.  Their violence and suffering is the only thing left, now, that gives their souls substance.  They need not postpone their agony.  Between every joint, every thought, every movement, lingers the Shadow. 

It is a relief to be dying.  In a moment of clarity, he realizes the arrow must have been poisoned, because an old nursery rhyme is spinning in his ears and the buildings are leaning over him maliciously, ready to devour him and his Men, their black windows hungry for the flesh.  Will none spare them? A rat scuttles over his ankles.   

The shadow has almost overcome him now.  He is sinking, drowning. Bitter cold gnaws at his bones. Although the world slows to a crawl before his blackening eyes, it seems that in only instants until the darkness will smother him entirely.  

But: _not yet. Not yet_ , he begs, fixing his eyes on the single star shining bright through Sauron's veil of darkness.  Gil Estel. All the old and familiar prayers are lost to his memory in the haze of cold and pain, so he clenches his teeth and, with a mighty effort, searches for acceptable words.

_By...by Varda, Queen of the Stars…_

(A strange image flashes into his mind: unfamiliar grey eyes gaze into his own.  For a brief moment, joy courses through him.)

_And by Manw_ _ë, her…spouse…_

(A white sapling, heavy with blossoms.)

_May the shadow be…driven away from these lands.  May…we be whole once more. May we find the Hope that has forsaken us…so… for so…long…_

(His mother:  at one moment, she is sweet and young, and then she is hollow and cold and dead. 

                                             A golden  peal of laughter and braided hair of the same color.  

                      The smell of smoke and oil and wood. )

_It is so hard to hold on…give me…just a little more strength._

The voice that answers is not that of a Vala.

"You are doing so well, little brother," it murmurs.  "I know it is hard, but you must hold on."

("Do now thy…"

                "…this shadow will endure…"  

A horn, cloven in two.

"…the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills…"

                                                A woman, the one with a golden braid, smiles at him. A babe is at her breast. A single word, a name, floats into his mind: Elboron.

                                                                                                He and Boromir are children, splashing in the surf and racing across the beach.

"Behold the…"

                "…great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days…"

                                He lifts the winged crown in his hands.

"…That Doom is near at hand…")

                Nauseated and disoriented by the visions that have completely overtaken him, he no longer knows where he is.  The cold is increasing in competition with the intense images swimming in his mind, and he almost wishes for it to overcome him, if only for the relief of silence and darkness.  Incredible pain explodes in his temples.  He makes a pathetic gasp that is supposed to mean _make it go away_.

The voice seems to understand him. "That is not in my power, Faramir."   It seems to come from far away this time. And--- thank the Valar, yes, the visions are fading, too as the shadow finally begins to conquer him. For a moment, he feels a surge of joy at the thought, but oh…that feeling is crushed as the shadow now not only swallows his visions, but his whole soul. He tries reach out, to call for aid, but he can do nothing.

"You must hold on." The voice is so very distant now. __

_Do not leave me._

"Never." He can barely hear it. "You must hold on, little brother.  Do not dare give in."

But the shadow is so very strong.

He lets out a whimper and knows no more.

* * *

                                                This is the way the world ends.

                                                This is the way the world ends.

                                                This is the way the world ends.

                                                                Not in a bang, but a whimper.

                                                T.S Eliot, _The Hollow Men_. 


End file.
